


Nobody Puts Baby In a Corner

by Loolph



Category: Supernatural, TV Commercials
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bars and Pubs, Born to be Wild, Borrowed plot, Car Impala, Chases, Cliche, Coen Brothers, Crossover, Easy Rider, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Inspired by..., M/M, Mercedes - Freeform, Steppenwolf - Freeform, The Author Regrets Nothing, car commercial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 08:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10240103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loolph/pseuds/Loolph
Summary: What if Yellow Eyes wanted a piece of a legend?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the kind of girl, who watches car commercials for fun. So sue me. When I saw 2017 Mercedes Super Bowl commercial, I just had to put Sam and Dean in it, ok? It's like their natural habitat. Please, don't judge me...

They were tired, they were thirsty, they needed gas. They were loosing the trace fast. Dean was still a little bit hopeful, that this was exactly the way Yellow-Eyed Demon went. But Sam was starting to see this trip as yet another wild goose chase. They needed a break.

The bar, next to the gas station they ended up in, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, New Mexico, looked like a movie set. As in, let’s build a bikers joint and put inside every stereotype possible. It was surrounded by cracked concrete and tall cactuses instead of trees. It had washed down, sea foam green front walls. Smudged, rusted signs saying “Drum & Discs Brakes” in the window, “Parking in rear” and “Do not block” on the wall. An old fashioned multicolor lightbulb arrow pointed at the entrance. Multiple bikes of all shapes and sizes were parked in front. All, proudly american made Harley - Davidsons, obviously.

And they went all in with the name of the place.

When Dean saw the sign, he squealed like exited little girl, which he would never admit. Even under pain of death or threat of hell, Sam knew. He hit the brakes hard and turned the wheel of the Impala towards the bar.

“Tiny’s, huh? Go figure.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, man. You gotta love the classics, Sammy.” Dean grinned and pulled to a stop besides the bikes.

“Shouldn’t you be parking in rear?” Sam pointed at the sign before him.

“Nah, she fits here just fine. Good piece of american engineering, right there. Besides, nobody puts my Baby in a corner.” Dean patted the roof lovingly, while exiting the car.

The inside of the place was even more over the top biker’s bar cliche, that Sam had imagined. Dean loved it from the first sight, only barely containing himself to not point with his finger and make “oh, oooh” sounds.

The harsh, desert light was filter through straw blinds and got lost in low, wooden beamed ceiling. Green felt pool table, burgundy bound leather chairs and scratched wooden tables were scattered around the room.

First thing Dean did, was to put a quarter on the edge of the pool table to save them the next game. It got him a stink eye from the dude already playing, but no comment. Sam went to the bar to order them a beer.

They sat, they sipped and they discreetly looked around, soaking up the atmosphere of the place. And, man, was there ever something to be soaking. You had to be careful or it would stick to your shoe and never wash off, Sam thought.

There was a jukebox, playing “Born to be Wild” by the Steppenwolf. Sam was oddly certain, that that was the only song possible to choose from. There was a cow skull on the wall. With horns. There was a red neon sign shaped like a cow skull with horns. There were other neon signs too.

There were Mardi Gras beads. There were old registration plates, nailed to the walls. Among photos of bikes and bikers and dollar bills. There were model bikes. There were stars n’ stripes bike helmets. The american flags were everywhere.

There even was a shrine, like an altar dedicated to Easy Rider. With a stars n’ stripes bike gas tank. With a movie poster and main character’s photo, autographed by the actor. There even were flowers. And lighted candles. Sam nearly let out a sip of beer through his nose, trying to contain the snort of laughter. He wasn’t suicidal, after all. Dean smirked, nonetheless. Figures, he was.

And then, there were the people.

The guy playing pool had some sort of default scowl behind short, black beard or a resting bitch face. But he was cool, when he played with Dean and Sam, nodding his head to the song. He was quite a good player. They had to put their mind to it. But Dean was better. All those hours hustling pool payed off. He bought them next round. When she brought them the drinks, Dean started to flirt with a biker’s hardcore old lady bartender working the bar, but was totally ignored.

Next to them sat a guy, holding a lit up lighter, like this was some kind of Steppenwolf concert not a record played on repeat. It will become an ear worm for Sam pretty soon, but what could you do? The guy was broad, bold and tattooed. He had medium, salt and pepper beard and wore a black leather vest with some charters embroiled insignias.

Another fan of Born to be Wild, this time with long, red curls and long, white beard was pumping in the air with his left fist. He seemed to twist his arm with too energetic cheering, thought. The guy sitting with a lighter had it covered better. Long haired guy also wore black vest.

The excess amount of black leather and facial hair and receding hairline was a clear theme here. Like they were all the original Route 66 charter sons. Even a guy by the jukebox helping himself with reading glasses and wearing a hippie tie-dye t-shirt, covered it up with a dark vest. And great amount of heavy, manly jewelry and chains.

There were two intense men, arm wrestling each other, their gaze locked, veins popping on their foreheads and beneath their tattoos. Dean was pulling Sam’s tails to get in on the action, so he accepted the challenge. Then one of them cracked under pressure and head butted another. Still, Dean didn’t let Sam off the hook. When the bearded guy, wearing army surplus vest tried to pull that one off with Sam, he instinctively dodged and gave back, which got him respect all around. They bought the slightly dizzy guy a burger as an apology.

Two other dudes were greeting each other with manly hug and back slapping. Their dog tags got tangled, though. They begun to slap each other and things escalated quickly into men’s version of cat fight, which meant mustache pulling. This time, Dean nearly lost it at the sight, choking around his bite of the burger.

Sam went outside to take a leak, because he could smell the bathroom from where he sat. As he walked back, a car pulled over and parked right in front off the entrance. Sam frowned. This was no good, Dean would be pissed. He went inside.

“Dean, we’re blocked in.” Sam tried to informed his brother discreetly, knowing full well how everybody would react, but was talked over by a big, black dude.

“Blocked in.” He was screaming from the door at the room. All heads turned at him. The chant of voices picked up a volume.

“Blocked in?” asked army surplus vest, arm wrestling man.

“Blocked in?” asked air pumping music fan, clutching to his pulled shoulder.

“Blocked in?!” echoed the dog tag tangled pair.

“Blocked In!!” The black guy from the doors nodded authoritatively.

A full crowd shot out from the bar, muttering murder under their breaths. There was indeed a car parked in front of the place, blocking all of the bikes and the Impala. Dean stared, frozen on the spot, next to Sam.

The car was new and it was foreign. A brushed silver Mercedes-AMG GT Roadster, Sam recognized. Dean could probably recite all other specs by heart, because this one he really liked. Even Sam could appreciate its shape. It had all the right curves. The detailing was impressive. It was ostentatious in just the right amount. Beautiful design and solid engineering. And an engine sound like a pack of hell hounds.

An old man strolled leisurely from behind the gas station as a hawk screamed in the distance. The crowd froze, only their heads turning. He was wearing gold rimmed sunglasses that should make him look a douche, but didn’t. He was dressed in all black leather pants and black leather jacked with white, red and blue stripes in front, on a sleeve and with an american flag on his back. He shifted his gaze over blocked in bikes and held it over the Winchesters car for a moment too long. The guy looked familiar to Sam. He exchanged his glance with Dean above other peoples turned heads. Is that…?

“Nice rides.” said the guy, smiling politely as he entered his car. He had style and stones, that man. The crowd gawked, one of the bikers quickly checking his tattoo, as for photo ID. Dean beamed to Sam. It was…!

“Still lookin’ good,” said the biker’s hardcore old lady, standing between starstruck riders.

Dean was flirting with her for hours without one inviting look and now she was all dreamy. She could’ve been Dean’s mother or even grandmother. But he liked older women, Sam knew. Dean flirted reflexively, like breathing. If you had boobs, you got Dean’s moves on you. Sam always found it hilarious. Especially, when these women picked up the game. They were shameless and knew how to make Dean blush.

And then the man was driving away, giving his signature V gesture and the crowd went even more still, holding their breath in disbelieve. Only the Winchesters caught the flicker of yellow in the guy’s eyes.

They moved to the car as one. This trail wasn’t as hopelessly cold, as they guessed, Sam smiled to himself. Thank you, Tiny.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna get Sam's ear worm, I would be much obliged:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egMWlD3fLJ8  
> If you haven't seen the ad, you should, people!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvHFM8c7cPM  
> It was directed by Coen Brothers and it's delicious!


End file.
